


Mutual Appreciation

by elenajames



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dom Steve Mason, Dom/sub, Kneeling, M/M, Multi, Sub Shayne Gostisbehere, Switch Ivan Provorov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/elenajames
Summary: The relationship between a goaltender and their defensemen is vital, and every goalie in the league has their own method of strengthening those bonds.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based vaguely on Kneeling 'verse and less vaguely on a conversation with my favorite enabler, castielslittleabomination.

Mase is hard to get a read on for most of the team. His poker face is strong, and he always exudes that terrifying sense of calm that’s unique to many a starting goalie in the league. Shayne has been kneeling for Mase for over a year now, and even that amount of time has only given him a handful of insights on how to read him. 

 

So when Mase answers the door, face that same mask of calm, Shayne feels Provy go tense beside him. 

 

“Shayne. Ivan. Come in.” 

 

George plods up, wiggling happily as Shayne leans down to scratch at the ruff of his neck. They leave their shoes by the door, following Mase in socked feet to the living room. Shayne’s comfortable here, the knot in his belly unclenching just a little when he spots the cushion Mase had purchased just for him waiting in its usual place next to the couch. There’s a new one opposite it now, the two of them framing Mase’s favorite spot to sit and Shayne  _ wants _ . 

 

“Go ahead, Shayne,” Mase says softly, gripping the back of Shayne’s neck briefly. “You know how I like you.”

 

Shayne nods, padding over to his cushion and kneeling down carefully. Hands on knees and eyes down, more of his tension slips away when Mase murmurs, “Good boy.”  

 

Temptation tugs at Shayne some as Mase and Provy talk in low voices, going back over the rules and limits they’ve spent the last few weeks discussing. It’s Provy’s first time here, and instinct wants Shayne to look up to check on the rookie, to reassure him even though he knows they’re both in good hands.  

 

“Nothing happens here without your say-so,” Mase repeats firmly. “You’re not required to submit in the same way Shayne does, nor are you constrained to submitting in only the ways Shayne does.” 

 

“Yes, Mase.” Formal tone makes Shayne smile despite himself; Provy’s so serious for a rookie, so sharp, of course he’d remember already that Mase dislikes being called ‘sir’. 

 

“Good. Kneel for me, now, eyes on the floor. You can touch, if you like.” 

 

There’s movement in the peripheral’s of Shayne’s vision as Provy settles on his cushion and Mase takes his seat between them. As the TV gets clicked on, left on low, Shayne wraps his fingers loosely around Mase’s ankle, needing just a bit of contact to really settle. 

 

It’s hard for Shayne to keep track of how much time passes when they do this. He’s aware of Provy and Mase’s breathing, the tick of George’s nails on the tile in the hall, Mase’s fingers tapping out messages on his phone. TV voices drone in the background, low waves that haze into static. Shayne lets his forehead drop against Mase’s knee, closing his eyes as he lists against his goalie. 

 

A hand lands in his hair, then, nails gently scritching across his scalp and fingers rubbing gently in turns. Another touch to his fingers nearly startles him, and Shayne picks his head up to look over at Provy. The young switch looks back hazily, unsure in a way that Shayne’s never seen him on the ice. Shayne grips his fingers, giving them a little squeeze. Provy’s hand is warm, hockey-calloused and strong, so Shayne keeps a hold as they settle back down. 

 

“Boys,” Mase says softly. “You can come up here, if you like.” 

 

Another squeeze to Provy’s hand, Shayne pulls himself up with a bit of help from Mase. The couch is big enough for them to tuck in on either side of him, and Shayne warms when Provy links their hands back together where they rest over Mase’s belly. 

 

“Feeling good?” 

 

“Yes, Mase.” The answer comes in unison, and Mase’s stomach bobs under their hands as he laughs. 

 

“Good. You’re both very good.” 

 

It’s Shayne that starts up stroking his fingers over Mase’s tee shirt, but Provy follows with only a touch of hesitation. Between them, they ruck up soft-worn cotton and dance their fingertips through the delicate hair of Mase’s treasure trail. Shayne leads the way beneath the waistband of Mase’s basketball shorts, looking up in tandem with Provy to get the nod from their Dom that means they can continue. 

 

Provy’s not shy about touching Mase once he has permission; his touch is knowing and it makes Shayne curious to find out just what else Provy knows, but now is not the time for that. Now, they work together to take care of Mase, to stroke and fondle until he’s coming over their fists with a soft sound of appreciation slipping from between his lips. 

 

“Thank you, boys.” Mase draws Shayne up for a soft kiss, praise and reward rolled into the careful contact. Provy hesitates when Mase touches his chin, so he gets a gentle hand through his hair and a peck on the forehead that leaves him delightfully pink. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” 

 

Mase uses his shirt to wipe the come from his belly, disappearing upstairs briefly to change while Shayne leads Provy to the downstairs bathroom. He doesn’t expect to be pulled into Provy’s arms, but he goes willingly. It’s never easy for switches, in Shayne’s experience, and he knows that Ivan’s been up for so long the instinct to Dom isn’t easy to fight. 

 

“He okay?” Mase asks. He’s looking at Shayne, but it’s Ivan who answers. 

 

“Yes. I am.” 

 

Mase gives them time, waiting until Ivan’s hold slackens before gesturing them towards the kitchen. He works with a quiet efficiency once they’re seated, pulling dishes and silverware from cupboards and drawers, ladling out bowls of stew for each of them. 

 

This is easy, but in a different way than kneeling is easy, with Mase. It’s care that slips back toward the brotherhood of team, hockey talk familiar and comfortable. Mase smiles more, like he always does after, and it lights up Shayne and - judging by the grin on his lips - Provy, too. 

 

Later, when Shayne’s driving Ivan home, he can swear contentment is rolling off the rookie in waves. “It’s good, right? We’re okay?” 

 

“Yes. You’re right this  . . . this is good, for us, for the team.” Provy smiles and shrugs. 

 

_ He’s going to be great _ , Mase texts Shayne, long after he’s crawled into bed. Mase, so far, hasn’t been wrong. 


End file.
